


how much she wants to be yours

by susiecarter



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Extra Treat, F/F, Getting to Know Each Other, Kissing, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/pseuds/susiecarter
Summary: "Hippolyta," Lois said, really really calmly, "I think there might have been a slight misunderstanding about why I'm here."
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Lois Lane
Comments: 35
Kudos: 174
Collections: Fic In A Box





	how much she wants to be yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nixie_DeAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/gifts).



> I saw that you were asking for Diana/Lois and Themysciran courting traditions, and that "arranged marriage" was in your likes, and this AU just kind of fell out of my keyboard! I hope you enjoy this little treat, and happy Fic In A Box. :D
> 
> Title borrowed from the poem "[Wife](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147502/wife-5b61e969a97f6)" by Ada Limón.

Themyscira was beautiful.

Lois had known it would be, but it was always different to actually stand somewhere on your own two feet. She'd come ashore over clear blue water, the way the ocean only ever looked when it was warm and the sand below it was white; she'd had to step in it to get out of the boat, because of course Themyscira didn't really have a lot of docks or harbors—there was something kind of fantastic about the idea that nobody who wanted to come here was going to be able to do it without splashing their way through the surf, wet up to the ankles.

They'd been waiting for her on the beach, a whole procession of Amazons in armor: gleaming, but in a hard-worn way, not decoration or show but armor that got _used_. The official greeting had been formal, but warm, and then they'd walked her up here to this gigantic pavilion, polished marble, carved with curling leaves and flowers, huge high ceiling, like some lost second Parthenon, perfectly restored.

And it wasn't just the building that was beautiful. She could see half the island from here, too—one side sloping down, rolling low hills, toward the cliffs over the sea, the water sparkling all the way to the horizon; and the other rising up, mounting toward a sort of peak, green and alive under the sun.

She spent way too long just staring, and then remembered belatedly to actually pick up the camera around her neck and take a few pictures. They weren't going to capture it, they couldn't. They weren't even going to be that good, and Jimmy was probably going to cry and then kill her, but they hadn't been able to make arrangements for an actual photographer. The Amazons had wanted to start things off slow: one person. Just one. And no one country had wanted to be the assholes who got pushy with the semi-immortal magical warriors who'd helped save the world from Steppenwolf.

She took down a handful of notes, too. She had a pad, her good pens, in her bag—typing was faster, but she remembered things better when she wrote them out, and besides, it had just seemed smart to go analog. There weren't exactly a lot of electrical outlets around here that she could've plugged into if her batteries had run low.

A murmur of voices, rising. Lois looked up, and then hurriedly stuffed the pad and pens away. What the hell did she do with the bag? She had no idea. It seemed ridiculous to meet the queen of the Amazons with her work bag slung over her shoulder, but even more ridiculous to just dump it on the floor—

And then she was out of time to decide, because the queen was there already, coming up the broad steps of the pavilion, with a grave and dignified smile.

Lois almost wanted to go for the camera again. Her armor was all shades of gold, but Lois knew already that it couldn't be _actual_ gold, not when it looked the way it did. Beaten, weathered: the same as the other Amazons, armor that had seen battle, heavy and well-worn and real.

She wore gauntlets, too, skirts of mail that jingled softly as she walked and leather beneath that. The gauntlets, the armor, the headpiece that crossed her brow—half a tiara, rounding the crown of her head, and half a helmet, with cheekpieces to turn aside blows to the face—were all done in the same style, crafted to follow the same principles, rays and angles, pieces overlapping and weaving above and behind each other. Her hair was held back somehow, pinned or braided, but only just enough to hold it out of her face; it tumbled free otherwise, in a cascade that fell down over the thick furred shoulders of a sweeping cloak.

Lois suddenly felt wildly underdressed.

Her name was Hippolyta, Lois knew that part already. That was half the reason Lois had been picked for this. The Amazons had come storming off their island in pursuit of Steppenwolf—and Clark had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with them, just like the rest of the newly-formed Justice League, after he'd been brought back to life. Lois knew their names, their ranks, had pumped Clark furiously for everything he could possibly tell her about them; she knew as much about them as anybody else on the planet.

The other half of the reason, obviously, was that she was a damn good reporter, and if anybody was going to do the very first feature on the Amazons and their island, she'd made sure it was going to be her.

"Welcome to Themyscira," Hippolyta said gravely.

"Queen Hippolyta," Lois said, "thank you—" and then Hippolyta held up a hand and she stopped short. Fuck, had she already screwed this up?

"Hippolyta," Hippolyta said firmly. "There will be no need for ranks between us."

Which sounded a little weird to Lois—why on earth not? What?—but she wasn't exactly eager to argue.

"Of course," she said aloud. "I'm Lois. Lois Lane."

It was reflex to go for a handshake. She'd been ready to have to catch herself, and she managed to repress it; but god, what should she do instead?

Hippolyta smiled wider, and saved her the trouble—reached out, and clasped Lois by the shoulder with a firm, steady hand. "We are honored, Lois Lane. I have been told much about you."

Lois blinked, and then brought a hand to her face, helpless, half a laugh escaping. "Oh, god. Clark, right?"

"Clark," Hippolyta agreed. "He had a great deal to say, and all of it of value. I'm so glad to have met you at last. Please, feel no need to attempt to stand on ceremony here. Our ways are not known to you, as yours are only barely known to us; surely we will both err, and will both be called upon to forgive each other's errors."

"Of course," Lois said. "No hard feelings."

"Just so," Hippolyta said, and then leaned in closer, and added in a confiding tone, "Truthfully, I don't know what we might have done, if we hadn't known already that you were a more than suitable candidate. I could never have permitted my daughter to marry one who was not worthy."

Translation issue.

That was the first thing Lois thought. Had to be a translation issue. That had happened to her before, more than once. You just needed to stay calm, not get worked up about the misunderstanding until you'd had a chance to feel out what the disconnect was—

Except that couldn't happen with Amazons, she remembered abruptly. That was part of the magic of them, that they spoke and understood all languages effortlessly.

But then—then what in the _hell_ —

"Hippolyta," Lois said, really really calmly, "I think there might have been a slight misunderstanding about why I'm here."

"Oh?" Hippolyta looked mildly puzzled, no more than that. "Well, of course if there is anything in particular you wish to know, or see, you need only ask and it shall be arranged. You do us a great service, offering yourself in the spirit of alliance, and you have nothing to fear from me or from any of my people."

"That's," Lois said, "that's really—wonderful of you, but I—"

"The princess!" someone cried, from the steps of the pavilion. Hippolyta turned, with an indulgent smile, and all the Amazons began to cheer.

Because of course they did. Of course they were all totally thrilled that their princess was about to walk into this pavilion and meet her brand-new human fiancée.

 _Shit_.

Lois racked her brain furiously, hands clenched around each other, pulse rushing in her ears. Nobody had said anything about—about _marriage_ , for crying out loud.

This was just supposed to be a feature. The most exclusive feature she'd ever get in her life. Nobody had had a clue there was a secret magical island filled with Amazons in the middle of the ocean. Not until Steppenwolf had showed up, anyway.

It had all been one big mess at the time. But in the aftermath, the pieces had fit together easily enough. The mother boxes Steppenwolf had been collecting—one of them had been given to the Amazons for safekeeping. He'd taken it; and they'd come after him, him and his parademons, an army in defense of humanity that was more than equal to the forces arrayed against it.

Batman had already known it was coming. He'd brought Clark back from the dead to help stop it. Clark, and Aquaman, and the Flash. And together with Hippolyta, battalions of Amazons at their backs, they'd won.

There had been no hiding their presence, after that. They'd understood that, and they hadn't tried. They'd opened up instead; but they weren't going to rush it.

One person. One representative of humanity, to come take a look around—establish diplomatic relations, make a good impression, and learn what there was to learn about the Amazons.

Obviously Lois had wanted to be in the running. She was a reporter _and_ she had a personal connection, albeit once removed: everybody knew she had forged a working relationship with Superman, and Superman had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the Amazon queen. She'd pushed that angle shamelessly, and it had paid off and then some.

It wasn't a surprise that Clark had mentioned her to Hippolyta. Even talked her up a little—obviously he'd wanted them to like her, to look forward to having her, help the whole thing go smoothly.

But he must not have known. He couldn't have known that Hippolyta had—had been vetting potential _daughters-in-law_ —

Lois had known this was important. She'd known it would be a hell of a lot of work, that basically the entire world was depending on her not to screw this up. But nowhere on the list of stuff she'd thought she'd need to worry about had been having to figure out how to turn down the princess of the Amazons. Jesus.

She swallowed hard, and then made herself breathe, sucked in air and let it out slow. Fine. This was fine. She could handle this. She'd just explain that there had been a mistake, that wires had gotten crossed somewhere. She'd offer to leave, and let them pick out somebody else, and it would suck but it would be fine.

She looked up. The princess was at the top of the steps, now, inside the pavilion. And she was—jesus, she was tall. Lois had seen her before, in the video clips that had been all over the news, fighting parademons alongside her mother. But all the Amazons were tall, which meant they didn't _look_ tall when they were standing next to each other.

She was tall, and she was beautiful. In the videos, it had seemed like a reasonable kind of gorgeous, movie-gorgeous; in person, it was basically debilitating. She didn't have Hippolyta's stately gravity, the aura of intensity that drew your eye straight to the queen, but she had warm dark eyes, a generous mouth, ludicrously perfect cheekbones, a face like—well, like a Greek goddess. Her hair was braided up intricately, smaller plaits weaving together over larger ones, caught together with tumbling locks that had been left loose, and her armor was simpler than Hippolyta's, clean and shining. New, maybe. Which in this case probably meant, you know, less than a thousand years old.

"Diana," Hippolyta was saying, tone pleased, and she smiled and drew her daughter close, hugged her and pressed a kiss to her brow. "You look wonderful. Here—" and shit, shit, she was turning, drawing Diana with her; Lois was seized by an irrational urge to find something to duck behind, somewhere to hide, and then it was too late: Diana was looking right at her. "This is Lois Lane."

A murmur rose among the other Amazons, gathered around the edges of the pavilion—repeating Lois's name to each other, and Lois would've panicked about everything she could imagine they might think of her, short and pasty and wearing a nice crisp blouse that couldn't even stop a kitchen knife, except every face she could pick out had a smile on it.

They were excited, that was all. There was someone new on their island, for the first time in literally thousands of years, and they thought their princess was going to marry her.

Diana took a step forward. "Lois Lane," she repeated, in a low clear voice, and reached out; Lois watched her own hand rise and congratulated it distantly on its A+ decisionmaking, and then Diana took it and clasped it between her own, and smiled.

"Diana," Lois managed unsteadily. "Wonderful to meet you. I'd— _really_ like to talk to you for a minute. Alone. If that's okay."

"Of course," Diana said, warm and gracious, untroubled. She turned to her mother and inclined her head a little, and Hippolyta returned the gesture. And then she kept Lois's hand in hers, led her away to the other side of the pavilion, and down the steps into the grass.

"Okay," Lois said. "So, the thing is, I didn't come here to marry you."

The barest little furrow appeared between Diana's brows. She was—it had been bad enough before, in the shade of the pavilion; she was unspeakably lovely in sunlight, which was pouring down, golden, through the trees on the cliff-edge where they were standing.

"You didn't?"

"Nope," Lois said. "Not even a little bit."

"I'm not sure I understand," Diana said carefully. "Did your people not receive the diplomatic greetings sent by our senate?"

"What? No, we did. Definitely."

Diana raised one eyebrow into a graceful arch. "And did you read them?" she inquired, in a bright mild tone Lois realized a moment later had been—teasing.

Lois laughed without meaning to, surprised. "Of course we did," she said. "I did, too. I wasn't going to show up here without having done my due diligence. But they didn't say anything about—"

She stopped short.

She'd told the truth. She _had_ read it. The whole statement, start to finish—like forty times, too, scouring it for anything that might help her figure out where to start, what to ask. She had it halfway memorized without even having tried to, and there was nothing in it about a marriage.

But—

"You requested a representative," she paraphrased slowly. "To come and—and 'forge a new bond of alliance'."

"Indeed," Diana agreed.

"But that—you meant to _marry_ you?"

"Of course," Diana said, blinking. "Do you know nothing of our shared history? The ancient alliances between humans, the kingdoms of the sea, the Amazons—all were sealed this way, in the past. Were you never told the old stories?"

"Um, no," Lois said. "I mean, we have stories about Amazons, or at least people we used to call by that name. And about Atlantis. But not at the same time. Not in the same story. So you really—you thought you knew why I was here, and you were just going to—?"

Diana looked at her searchingly for a moment, and then smiled, sweet and slanting. "You think I will find it a great hardship to marry you, Lois Lane?"

Lois felt suddenly aware of how close to each other they were standing, of every inch of space between them; of the fact that Diana had never actually let go of Lois's hand, still had it closed gently between her own, and was watching her with those steady eyes, that gentle warmth that seemed to define everything Diana did.

"But," Lois said helplessly. "I mean—we can't. We aren't. I'm not—I mean, not that I wouldn't be honored to—"

She gave up, face flushed hot. Diana, thankfully, didn't seem frustrated or offended. She tipped her head back and laughed.

"It's all right," she said kindly. "I swear to you, it will be all right. You will cause your people no dishonor. You must understand, the Amazons were created by the gods to bring peace and love to the hearts of all; you can give no offense, no insult, that would create cause for anger or retribution. Especially not in innocence, through confusion. That is not our way."

"It's ours, sometimes," Lois admitted.

And Diana gave her a long searching look, and squeezed her hand, and said, "You are honest in all things, Lois Lane. So let me make you an offer, and you may accept it or refuse it, and whatever you choose to do, I will know it reflects the truth of your heart. You have already agreed to come and stay here for a day and a night?"

"I—yes," Lois said, because she had.

"Then do so," Diana said. "And if by the end of that time, you still would not like to marry me, then I will go and explain everything to my mother, and she will understand; and you will leave in peace, a friend."

"But if—" Lois said, half a nervous laugh caught between her teeth. Because—god, it should have been ridiculous, it should have been absurd: to assume there was any chance at all that she would spend twenty-four hours here and decide to _marry_ this woman she'd barely met by the end of it.

Except—

Except, she had to admit, if there was anyone in the world who might convince you to marry them in a day, it was probably Diana.

Who was giving her a sweetly mischievous, knowing look. "If," she concluded for Lois, "you decide otherwise, then it may happen just as my people expect, and the ancient alliance between humans and Amazons will be restored. And when you leave this island, I will go with you, to learn about your world and your people, and to be with you always, together in all things."

It should have sounded weird. But it was—Diana was so sincere, it was impossible not to believe that she meant it, in the best way that it could be meant. Lois's breath caught, she didn't know where to look; she cleared her throat and rubbed her free hand over her mouth, and reminded herself it didn't matter.

It wasn't going to happen, obviously. A day and a night. Diana was right, she'd already been intending to stay that long. She might as well do it. She'd probably get a lot further around here, asking questions, taking pictures, sticking her nose in everywhere she could, if everybody thought she was going to be marrying their princess by the end of it. And then Diana would take care of straightening things out with Hippolyta, and Lois would be home free.

It didn't matter what the other option was. It was fine. All Lois had to do was not marry the princess of the Amazons by the end of the day, and everything would be fine.

"Okay," she said aloud. "All right. You've got a deal."

It was a wonderful day.

Diana took her on a tour of the entire island—through all the buildings in the main quarter where most of the Amazons lived, from the senate chamber with its vast dome and amphitheater of a hearing floor to the tower vault that contained the treasured artifacts supposedly given to the Amazons by the gods. It was fascinating to listen to Diana talk about them; she spoke as if they were real, but without the kind of reverence Lois might have expected. Casually comfortable, instead, as if the Greek gods were simply a historical fact with which everyone was presumably equally familiar.

She let Lois take pictures of everything, and then, with Lois's enthusiastic permission, took some pictures herself. She was fascinated by the camera, endlessly attentive while Lois tried to explain to her how it worked and intrigued by the way she could flip through all the pictures Lois had taken, and then her own, on the camera's screen.

They went by the training grounds, and Lois goggled shamelessly—the Amazons were like artists, athletes, warriors, and circus performers, all in one. And Diana—

Diana, among them, was transcendent. It wasn't like Lois actually knew enough about what they were doing to say Diana was good at it; but she _looked_ spectacular. She was fast, strong, quick and able, and she never seemed to err as far as Lois could tell. Watching her move like that, the intensity of it, the sheer single-minded focus on her face and the things she was able to do with her body, it was—Lois felt hot, flushed all the way up her throat and face, by the time Diana had finished one challenge course and come back to her.

It was really sunny. It was just so sunny, that was all.

Then Diana went and got them both horses. It clearly hadn't even occurred to her that anyone might not know how to ride, not until she'd already brought the horses to a halt and was standing there watching Lois try to get on. Lois had actually had some lessons, but that had been back when she was about eleven, so there was a limit to how much help that prior knowledge could be.

Diana was beautiful when she laughed, and apologized very graciously for both her thoughtlessness and her amusement. Lois didn't mind at all, and then—

Well. Then Diana decided that obviously the best solution was for them both to ride the same horse.

Lois had no doubt the hills and open fields of Themyscira were gorgeous. But she might as well have had her eyes closed for the entire ride, for all she could remember about anything she'd seen by the time Diana reined the horse to a stop. Her head was hopelessly full of Diana at her back instead, Diana's thighs pressed into the backs of hers, Diana's arms held forward around her to handle the reins.

Thank god for the camera. At least she had some pictures.

Diana had taken them all the way to a cove on the far side of the island—and as beautiful and fierce and deadly as she'd looked on the training grounds, she was equally disarming, girlish, eyes bright with mischief, as she tugged Lois into the water with her and then splashed her in the face. Lois squawked and splashed her back, soaked those gorgeously complicated braids until they were dripping, and Diana didn't seem to mind at all.

It was there, in the shallows of that bright clear ocean, hot with sun and prickling all over with the clean coolness of the water, that Lois started to understand she'd been kidding herself if she'd thought she could get out of this with her head on straight.

It would be ridiculous to marry Diana on the strength of one good day, no matter how good it was. She knew that. But that didn't mean she was going to be able to stop herself from wanting to.

They rode back to the city in the early afternoon, for lunch. That apparently meant another pavilion, low tables covered in trays, fruit and cheese and meat, pale soft bread. Lois took the opportunity to get out her pad and a pen, start actually asking Diana some real questions, and Diana wasn't like anybody else she'd ever interviewed—didn't talk around anything, didn't sidestep, didn't have any pat PR-polished non-answers. She thought about every answer she gave with grave attention: she told Lois the stories she'd mentioned, the past history of the Amazons, Atlantis, Steppenwolf. The first war, the mother boxes, gods and aliens and ancient battles like something out of the Iliad. She talked about her mother, about the Amazon people, their senate, the way they lived; she was unflinching, explaining how she'd fought with Hippolyta—Lois had had no idea, but apparently it had taken some time and a really big argument in the senate chamber for the Amazons to decide to pursue Steppenwolf. Their purpose, their great duty to ride to war but only for the sake of ending it, had won out in the end—Diana didn't think they'd have had the right to call themselves Amazons otherwise.

She held nothing back, placed nothing off the record. Lois wrote so much her hand started to hurt, but she wouldn't have stopped for the world.

And then, once they were done with most of the big stuff Lois had wanted to get through, Lois looked down at her pad, rubbed her thumb along her pen, and heard herself say, "And—how _do_ Amazons get married?"

Diana didn't speak right away. Lois risked a glance up, cheeks hot, and found that Diana was watching her, dark eyes steady, mouth slanting just a little.

"It isn't so very complicated," Diana said at last, in a low voice that made Lois want to lean in, closer than she ought to. "There will be a great feast, usually, with fires and drums and dancing. The women who are marrying—they dance together around the largest fire, and when they are done they stand before all the crowd and offer each other their gauntlets." She held out one arm, showed the armor that went from her wrist up her forearm; that, Lois understood, was where she'd seen the Amazons clasp each other in greeting, and the piece of armor many of them used most in blocking weapons strikes, protecting their faces and chests—crucial. Some of the most important armor they had, and in a demonstration of devotion, then, they gave that armor to each other: protected each other, instead of themselves. Or perhaps it was that protecting each other had become protecting themselves.

Lois cleared her throat. It was tight, and she didn't know why.

"And then?"

"And then," Diana said, "if they accept, put each other's gauntlets on, it is done. They are two apart—or three, or more, depending. It is known, and recognized by all of us, that they are then together in all things."

Lois looked at her, and Diana—Diana had never looked away from her in the first place. For a moment they were caught like that, in the grip of something that made the air feel still, and Lois could barely breathe for wishing Diana would—would just _do_ something—

But then she caught herself, tore her eyes away and twisted her pen in her hand, wrote a line of gibberish just to have something to do that wasn't throw herself at Diana like an idiot.

She had to be sensible about this. Reasonable. She couldn't just—marry Diana. She couldn't.

It was just getting a little harder to remember why, was all.

Anyway, the point was, Diana answered all her questions—even that one. So it wasn't like Lois didn't understand what was happening, after the sun set.

The rest of the afternoon passed as pleasantly as the morning had. Diana took her to the Themysciran archives next, a building even bigger than the senate hall that was absolutely packed with documents: books, yes, but also scrolls, much older. Copies of works Lois was pretty sure had been lost to the rest of the world—chronicles, poetry, ancient science and math and philosophy. The best she could do was take some more pictures, make a bunch of notes about the contents; but she knew already that once she managed to find some Classics professors who knew what they were doing, they were going to absolutely lose their shit once she showed them what was in here.

She got to talk to Hippolyta, too. She felt like she had to say something about what Diana had told her; but Hippolyta only listened, agreed that Diana had answered accurately and clearly. As if she just—expected that Lois would tell the truth, that everyone would know Diana had had to argue her into saving the world. As if she'd never even considered that there might be another option. She'd acted as she'd thought was right; she'd been in error, she now felt. It had happened before, and would again.

Amazons were both the best and the worst interview subjects Lois had ever had. She hadn't even realized how much of a kick she got out of ferreting people's secrets loose, closing them in a tightening circle of questions to make them admit something they hadn't meant to admit, until she was just getting handed everything she asked for instead.

And then the sun sank low over the sea. The whole sky turned pink and gold, darkened a bit at a time. The stars came out.

Lois could see, in the distance, great fires being lit. And then Diana came, and led her to—a feast.

— _a great feast, usually, with fires and drums and dancing_ —

Because, of course, the Amazons thought there was going to be a marriage tonight.

But it was fine. She didn't have to stop it yet, she thought. There was no reason to ruin it. Everybody could at least eat, drink, dance, for a while. Then she'd take Diana aside, later, and say thanks but no thanks, and Diana would explain it to her mother.

Later.

She let Diana take her hands, lead her to the space around the largest fire. The one they'd have been expected to dance a circle around together, if they were getting married. Which they weren't.

There was even more food than there had been at lunch that afternoon—more food than Lois had ever seen before in one place, she was pretty sure. Fresh-cooked, meat that was still hot and crackling, bread that was still steaming; fruit that tasted like it had come off the trees ten minutes ago, because it probably had. Some kind of drink, honeyed, one step sideways from mead. Alcoholic, Lois could guess that from the taste, and for a second she wanted to knock back everything she could get her hands on, make herself drunk enough and brave enough to—to do something ridiculous.

(But some stupid stubborn part of her said that if she wasn't brave enough for that on her own, then Diana deserved better anyway.)

There were drums. There was dancing. Amazons danced the way they fought: fiercely, with almost unearthly skill, moving between and around each other as if all of them already knew exactly where the rest were going to be at any given moment.

There was no way Lois could dance like that. But she let Diana pull her away from the food anyway, let Diana draw her in and move with her—she followed the pressure of Diana's hands, arms, started to understand how the simplified steps Diana was guiding her through fit into the music and the beating of the drums, and when she thought she had the hang of it, she turned and looked and Diana was smiling at her, small and pleased.

And god, Diana had been beautiful the moment she'd walked into the pavilion, and she'd been beautiful when she'd been fighting; she'd been beautiful in sunlight, and on horseback, and in water. But in firelight, turning and twisting, hair gilded bright, bringing her heels down hard in time with the drums—it was impossible to look away from her.

Lois didn't try.

When they were done dancing, she told herself distantly. Then, she'd say something. Remind Diana of their deal; explain that she hadn't changed her mind. Soon. But not yet.

Then Diana started to move—not just in the circle of space she took up dancing, but forward. Lois followed her. There was a noise that wasn't the music, the dancing or the laughter around them: clapping, cheering, starting low and scattered and rising. Other dancers were moving out of Diana's way; out of Lois's, too.

 _The women who are marrying—they dance together around the largest fire_ —

This was the largest fire. They were halfway around it now. Diana turned and caught Lois's hands, whirled them both around, and when she stopped it was—Lois was ahead of her, in the direction they'd been moving. Diana met her eyes, silent, asking without asking.

Lois turned, heart pounding, and—kept going.

She'd stop, she thought. Any second, she was going to stop. She wasn't going to do this, not really. She couldn't. Surely she couldn't.

She told herself that for another quarter of the way around the roaring fire, pulse rushing in her ears, breath quick. And then she didn't stop.

They reached the place where they'd begun. The Amazons were shouting, now, whooping and grinning, slapping each other on the shoulder. Lois ground to a halt, knees unsteady under her; she knew she was a mess, hot-faced, sweaty, hair wild. It just didn't seem to matter at all compared to the way Diana was looking at her.

Diana took a step nearer, closed the distance that had been left between them to nothing. And then she stopped. "Lois," she said, almost too quietly to hear.

And Lois reached out with unsteady hands, and gripped Diana's wrist.

The gauntlet had two parts, leather that wrapped around Diana's wrist and the base of her palm and then the metal that fit over it. Lois closed her sweaty trembling fingers around the metal part, and pulled, and it came loose; Diana relaxed her hand to allow it, and then it was—it was off, and Lois was holding it.

She stopped short, clutching it. Jesus, she hadn't thought this through at all. What the hell was she going to give Diana?

She bit her lip, fumbled a hand down. These slacks had pockets, and if she was lucky—

She was lucky. Her fingers found the shape of one of her pens, shoved in absently for safekeeping and left there, and she pulled it out.

Diana looked down at it, and blinked, and then started to smile. Small at first, slow, and then wider and wider, those lovely dark eyes crinkling up at the corners.

"It's not, um," Lois started.

"It's enough," Diana said. "If you're certain, Lois Lane—it's enough."

"Okay," Lois said unsteadily, and then she pushed the gauntlet over her own hand, curled her thumb in until it went through and she could settle the gauntlet down just past her wrist.

It fit a little further down her forearm than it had on Diana, but then Diana had a little more forearm to fit into it, so.

Lois swallowed, and looked up—Diana was already reaching out, taking the pen from her hand, and then she caught Lois's face in her other palm, tipped it up and kissed her, deep and hard and thorough; and somewhere that sounded very far away, the Amazons cheered, as Lois leaned into—into her wife's hands, and kissed back.


End file.
